


The Letter

by lovesdaryl



Series: The Letter [2]
Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-06 13:39:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1860036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovesdaryl/pseuds/lovesdaryl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is the very first time I'm publishing anything anywhere, I hope you'll like it!</p><p>In addition to this post, I've also submitted it to this week's USS Caryl fanfic/fanart challenge titled Letters to You on Tumblr, so if you find it there as well, it's identical.</p><p>Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote>





	The Letter

**Author's Note:**

> This is the very first time I'm publishing anything anywhere, I hope you'll like it!
> 
> In addition to this post, I've also submitted it to this week's USS Caryl fanfic/fanart challenge titled Letters to You on Tumblr, so if you find it there as well, it's identical.
> 
> Enjoy!

Surprisingly, the sky had been blue and the air crystal clear that morning, after a cloudy, rainy day and a stormy night. Apparently, they were going to get lucky and this would be one of the last sunny days before winter finally set in.

She hoped that Daryl and Michonne had found a dry place to hole up in for the night. They had been out for two days already, and if all went as planned they should be back today.

Carol had been up at first light, as always, getting breakfast ready for the people coming in from watch. Glenn and Maggie were first to sit down, and first to retreat to the cell they'd been sharing for two months now, with Hershel's blessing, yawning conspicuously and claiming to be "dead tired". The others seated along the tables lined up in their so-called dining area had grinned and laughed in response, at which Glenn had had the decency to blush as Maggie pulled him along by the hand.

Slowly, everybody came down from their cells or drifted in from outside for their first meal of the day - lukewarm oatmeal, and for the children, the sick and the old scrambled eggs from the few chickens that Hershel was desperate to get through the coming winter. They were out of meat and she was glad that Daryl would be back later today. She would not mention food to him, but she knew that he would go out to hunt as soon as he had rested. He was always keeping himself busy, providing food whenever he found the time.

As Carol was serving the last handful of people to show up and Beth was already starting in on the first dishes with two of the Woodbury women, Carol looked up and out at the picture perfect sky through one of the narrow windows set high in the wall.

With the sun probably out the whole day, it just might actually get warm enough to get some laundry dried outside. She didn't doubt there was enough of it to be worth her while. What with fence duty, working in the plot that Hershel was preparing for planting crops next spring, and getting all soiled combing dusty, abandoned houses for supplies and usable stuff, there were always lots of dirty clothes waiting for her to get around to breaking out her tin laundry bathtub again.

Turning toward the sink, she softly called out:"Beth? Take over for me here? With the weather so nice today, I'd like to try and get some laundry done." Smiling at the two blonde sisters standing in front of her with their bowls ready for the oatmeal she was dishing out, she added, addressing them: "Beth will be here right away, sweeties, she'll give you your oatmeal and eggs. I'll be outside doing the laundry - spend some time with me when you've finished your breakfast? I could tell you a tale about a boy who pulled a sword out of the stone it was stuck in - and he was made king for it!" The girls beamed and nodded.

Untying her apron and folding it into its cubbyhole, she grabbbed a huge pot, filled it with water and set it on the stove. Looking out over the people still having breakfast, she called out: "Tyreese? Would you help me fill the tub for laundry?" Ty, who had already been on his way in her general direction, holding his empty bowl and his spoon, smiled at her and nodded. "I'll get it for you, where do you want it?" 

She described the spot where she wanted it set up - a nice and sunny one not too close to either the entrance or the front gate so she would have some quiet and would neither have to listen to constant walker growling and stabbing nor be beset by the prison's most recent occupants coming out for a chat.

Then she briskly walked to the dozen laundry baskets set up outside the shower stalls where people could deposit their dirty clothes after getting cleaned up and changing. Collecting everything in one basket, heaping it to overflowing, she smiled to herself.

Daryl was out there every day, either on the fence, or out hunting, or going on runs. As his priority was always on getting the job done, he was by far the one with the dirtiest clothes. At the same time, he was the most private person she'd ever met, and quite apart from other things that this entailed, it also meant that he never put his dirty clothes into these laundry baskets as he considered them too public for his liking.

Therefore, knowing this, after depositing her basket next to the empty tub already set up by Tyreese, she went back in and up to Daryl's perch. She found the plastic bag into which he customarily stuffed his dirty pants and shirts and emptied it. She missed catching the pair of pants falling out and was reaching down to pick it up, when something square and whitish on the grating peeking out from under it caught her eye.

Tugging his pants aside, she saw that it was a folded piece of paper. Thinking it was one of the lists the teams took out for runs, she picked it up and unfolded it. If it hadn't been marked too badly and contained the standard stuff that they needed most, they'd be able to use it again.

She first realized that something was amiss when she didn't recognize the handwriting.

Everyone at the prison had their specific tasks and responsibilities. There were people who kept the fences clear, people who went on runs, people who procured gas for their half dozen vehicles. 

There were people who kept stock lists and provided the teams going out for supplies with lists of what was needed. Exactly three of them. Carol was one of these, and she worked closely together with the other two. She knew their handwriting, having watched both of them write these lists when preparing for a run. This had been written by neither of them, nor by herself.

Involuntarily, her eyes were drawn to the first lines, and in the way the human brain has of automatically trying to make sense of anything written down, she started reading, but didn't get beyond the first two words.

Dear Carol.

It was a letter. Written by someone whose writing she didn't recognize. That she'd found among Daryl's dirty laundry.

Her eyes flew to the bottom of the sheet. To the name written there.

Daryl.

He had written a letter to her. 

Apparently, until now, he'd been transferring it from one pair of pants to the next when changing for she had never seen this before. He must have forgotten to do it this time.

Her legs folded up and she sat down hard on his bedroll, dropping his laundry. She folded the letter again, her fingers numb, without reading anything else beyond the salutation and his name. She would have felt to be snooping where she wasn't wanted - even more than she already did. He would give it to her if and when he was ready for her to read it, but she would never be able to face him again if she read it behind his back now.

She looked around on the perch, hunting for a safe place to hide it, then found a tattered copy of "A Game of Thrones" next to his stack of clean clothes, opened the top cover and carefully placed the letter inside the book. Then she gathered his dirty clothes back up, including the pair of pants she had failed to catch, got to her feet again and briskly went down the stairs and outside into the sun drenched prison yard without looking back.

Two hours later, the sound of an approaching car caught her attention. After telling the story of King Arthur and the sword in the stone to Lizzie and Mika, she had been working on autopilot, her thoughts wandering, taking her back to Hershel's farm, where, for her at least, it had all started.

She remembered Daryl holding her back when she wanted to run toward what had become of her Sophia outside the barn. Remembered the cold dread pooling in her stomach when she had seen Shane and Rick drag him toward the white farm house, drooping, covered in blood, with his torn, bloodsoaked shirt tied around his waist, after he'd shot himself with his own crossbow after getting thrown by Nervous Nelly.

The rumble of the engine brought her back to the present, and as always when he came back, she dropped what she was doing - in this case, a yellow dress with a floral print and a white frill at the neck that belonged to Mika - and ran toward the gate. She arrived even as Carl and Rick were simultaneously opening both gates for the small, pea green car to pass through without stopping, with Sasha and Tyreese banging crowbars against the fences on both sides of the gates to draw the walkers outside away.

As always when these two returned from one of their search runs for the Governor, Michonne briefly stopped the car between the inner and outer gates. The passenger door opened and Daryl got out, shouldering his crossbow and carrying a string of squirrels and two rabbits. His eyes found hers and he gave her that small, reassuring nod to let her know he was okay.

She smiled at him in return, and side by side they walked past Carl and through the inner gate while Rick was already closing the outer one again.

Handing her his catch, he briefly squinted at her before dropping his gaze to his feet again. "You okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine. No problems here", she answered, adding: "Did you find a dry spot last night during the storm?"

"Hmmm, found a shed when it started pouring."

Coming up on the entrance to Cellblock C, he spotted the washtub and glanced down at her again. "Did breakfast today?"

She nodded. "You know I do it every day. Even saved some for you as you were due back today." She beamed up at him, knowing he would have pushed to get back to the prison as quickly as possible after first light.

"An' now ya doin' laundry?" He sounded unhappy.

"It's a beautiful day to be doing it outside in the sun. I got yours as well."

He paled visibly, his left hand flying to his rear pants pocket. She realized that he had found his letter missing while he was out there, and his stricken look at the idea of it either being read or going unnoticed to get torn up on the washboard in the sudsy water of her tub cut her to the heart.

She paused and turned slightly so as to fully face him.

"I found it in your laundry bag", she said quietly. "I swear I didn't read it. You'll find it in Game of Thrones."

His grateful look as his sky blue eyes briefly met hers made her blush. He gave her another of his curt half nods, one corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. "Thanks", he mumbled softly before turning toward the prison entrance to retrieve his letter and put it back where it belonged.

**Author's Note:**

> As practically every review and private message asks for the letter I've decided to write a sequel. Thank you so much for your encouragement, I'm glad you like this!


End file.
